


the desert.

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I dunno if this actually classifies as fluff or angst., M/M, abstract crap, canonverse, it just is., like always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>'You're alive.'</em> And his voice is a whisper—cracking at the end, more delicate than your fluttering ribcage in which the roaring sea resides—heart like crashing waves breaking across the shoreline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the desert.

**Author's Note:**

> So this began as my attempt at fluff and just became sorta melancholy at the end. I suck. Why me, god.

You're locked in a cage of stars and dots, upon endless bars the shade of near liquid sand. And it's warm—breath at your nape the equivalent of flickering flames climbing through abrasive darkness. 

You roll yourself over—careful in your shifting—praying not to wake him. 

Then you're fixing your head to the left of his chest—ink in a desert landscape, fringe falling across your metallic eyes. And momentarily, you think that it seems symbolic—as you attempt to quell the roar inside of you. This accompanied by eyes like storms, coinciding with crashing waves that pound within the center of your ribcage till you can barely breathe—the riptide pulling any man that dare enter farther out in the dark sea. 

You find your arms wrap even more tightly around the boy turned man pressed to the mattress mere inches ahead. 

The both of you are alive—his heartbeat beneath your ear thumping, _thrumming_ —sending jolts of electricity throughout your body that you only recognize in moments like these. 

_The moments in which you've defined life as truly precious._

Those have been coming around much more often, lately, you find. 

And it's known, even if only to yourself, that fact is mostly credited to the person with bright eyes seemingly unmarred by his experiences, positioned in front of you—eyes that are now opening so slowly, weighed down by long periods of sleep deprivation and agony, before locking onto yours. 

You'd surely throw away the key if such a thing existed between the two of you; and it's the first instance in which you've ever thought up something so sappy. 

Yet it is the unspoken truth. 

This man has changed you in so many ways—ways you're not sure you'd ever like to admit—not even fully aware if they are for better or worse, as his breath fans out across your face. And the drag of his finger across the bared skin of your scarred back is like fire roaring across a scorched landscape—yet he continues to build new life once through, planting forests and vast meadows upon your skin with cracked lips and gentle caresses that were not meant for someone like you. 

You are the dried soil from which plants cannot stem—the expanses of land which receive no sustenance, beaten down to browned dust by the sun. 

Though, for some inexplicable reason—a boy that is the raging, heated star in his disposition—can remedy that with soft words that are the small flowers pushing from the cracks in soil, through the desolately dry surface. And they are watered with words that spill from chapped lips mid-night, flowing unto you till it is too much to bear. 

And on this evening, the pink light streams through the tinted windows of your quarters in a gentle sheet, caressing him as you'd always longed to—then you're allowing him to kiss you, putrid breath and all that accompanies.

You figure that _so many rules have already been broken for him_ —that something so small shouldn't matter any longer. 

You find that it doesn't.

 _'You're alive.'_ And his voice is a whisper—cracking at the end, more delicate than your fluttering ribcage in which the roaring sea resides—heart like crashing waves breaking across the shoreline.

Once you'd have scoffed at such a statement— _of course you're alive._ Though, now you find the sentiment to be a large placeholder in your aching chest, as his hands move to your abdomen—fingers trailing along the creases of hard muscle. 

Your breath catches in your throat. 

You are aware you have lost this battle. 

_'I am.'_

And then he smiles—pulling your body closer as his lips turn up lazily at the corners, hands moving to grip your sides near painfully. 

He is beautiful. 

Head buried in his neck—pine and sunflowers, you're all too aware. 

that you are in love. 

You are no coward. 

Voice muffled by sweat heavy skin—you speak. 

_'I love you, Eren.'_

And it is a vain hope to never wake alone—not when you can have this, warm lips pressing to your temple with shaking breath. 

_'God, I love you so much. I'm always so worried I'll lose you on every expedition and I—'_

This is not talk meant for bed or the dim of twilight, yet your lips meet his ear—breath uneven, words breaking, _shattering,_ at his expense. 

_'I'm not going anywhere, Eren.'_

You're both alive, for now, and that's enough for you to curl into him—praying that your heart stops beating long before his.

At this point, it is all you can do to quell the gale accompanied by cracking lightning and roaring thunder within you. 

His silent tears are merely rain, a portion of the storm—dropping to the desert surface of your skin. 

And you'd swear that you felt weeds, pushing gently through the cracks.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought of this crap. I haven't been happy with my writing for the past few months?? I dunno, bro. I dunno. I have an exciting paper I should be writing instead. yaaay. (Not.)


End file.
